


From Possible to Inevitable

by thesuninside



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, College Student Stiles, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rebuilt Hale House, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesuninside/pseuds/thesuninside
Summary: Derek and Stiles had been moving in this direction since they met, but before they could make it work, Stiles had some growing up to do, and Derek had to get better.::::::::::::Third person limited, Stiles POV.  Stiles has other sexual relationships, but they are not discussed explicitly and are before he and Derek get together.





	From Possible to Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been interested in the changes people go through when they leave home for the first time, and so this fic started as that exploration. 
> 
> Also, I realized how long it had been since I'd written anything just for the pleasure of writing. That was a very sad realization. So! Here's Stiles and Derek, the way I like them. Thank you for reading!

College had been good to Stiles. 

 

All his quirks that had been awkward in high school were _cool_ or _edgy_ in college; he found a group of people that he just _clicked_ with, and suddenly had a full social calendar that in no way involved blood, bodies or gore, unless there was a new Quentin Tarantino movie. 

 

And Stiles got laid.  Like.  A lot.

 

It wasn't like he went hoing around.  Nothing wrong with hos, but see:  full social calendar with his friends.  He had a couple of steady-ish hookups, friends-with-benefits.  Maddie had a great ass and let him play with her boobs and Troy taught him how to deepthroat and it was super.  Maddie looked nothing like the Number One Crush of His Life, Lydia.  Maddie was curvy and had self-esteem issues that Stiles completely empathized with, but she drove him a little nuts when they got together 'cause she was just so into it.

 

Troy looked an _awful_ lot like Number Two Crush of His Life, Derek.  Troy had dark hair and a big hairy body, even if he wasn't as ripped, and he had this _grin_ that Stiles wanted to eat off his face.  They had fun, Maddie and Stiles and Troy and Stiles, and then Maddie got a boyfriend and Troy graduated and moved to Austin.  Stiles bought Maddie a mani-pedi session as closure to their semi-relationship and since that pretty much tapped him out financially, he said goodbye to Troy with a weekend of marathon sex that left him sore and worn out.

 

Stiles worked all summer, called his dad every evening, texted Scott almost constantly, and decided to get a tattoo.  He found the design in one of Deaton's books--a knot to put on a home for protection against possession or evil spirits.  He got one of his artist friends to draw it for him, took it to a tattoo place that did a side business in legit magical warding, and walked out stinging but with a big knot stretched across his ribs and centered on his heart.

 

He slept better that night than he had in years.

 

His sophomore year, Stiles was enrolled in much more challenging classes, and in his texts with Lydia, they compared assignments.  Lydia, at MIT, was having the time of her life because she was finally surrounded by people who could keep up with her.  Scott, meanwhile, was rocking his core curriculum at community college and planned to transfer to a UC school.  Stiles and Derek texted,  though it was irregular.  Derek was god-knows-where doing god-knows-what, but his occasional texts and even less frequent pictures (never of himself, only of things he'd seen) let Stiles know he was still alive. 

 

Stiles texted Derek a picture of the tattoo, and asked if he had any suggestions for a new one.  Around the same time, but unrelated, he also hooked up with a couple for the first time, an awkward threesome that Stiles decided was _not for him_ , no matter how into it the couple had been.  He'd done enough third wheeling in his life _thank you very much_.

 

Derek didn't answer for about a week, and when he did, it was with a picture of something drawn by hand.  It was another Celtic one, this one a long band.  Stiles thanked Derek, emptied his tattoo fund, and got it wrapped around his upper arm.  He admired his tattoo artists' pierced ears so much that a couple of weeks later, he came back for some piercings, and went home with Luka to practice his vaguely rusty throating skills.

 

He sent Derek a picture of the tattoo, and Derek answered that it looked good.  The compliment sent Stiles' head spinning (or maybe that was the pot from his neighbors?).  He asked Derek if he was going to be in California in May, when Stiles returned for summer break.  Derek said yes, and Stiles buckled down and willed the days to pass faster.  That crush was still blossoming and thriving.  Stiles didn't hook up as much, but when Luka called him, Stiles went over.  By the time finals rolled around, Stiles' throating skills were no longer rusty.  He fully intended to talk Derek into letting Stiles show them off.

 

Still, the first day back, Stiles had to spend with his dad. Okay, not had to like it was a chore--no, Stiles loved his dad.  More like it was obligatory.  Not an obligation Stiles minded, though.  They talked nonstop for hours, Stiles cooked on a real stove for the first time in a long time, and watched some football before Stiles went to bed.  He texted Derek as he laid down.  _Hey I'm in town.  Are you? Can we meet?_

Derek's answer was waiting in the morning.  **Come to the house _._**

Oh, god.  Stiles had forgotten the second-hand disappointed pain at the thought of Derek squatting in misery somewhere--ah, that was a familiar feeling, at least.  But there were also butterflies, and as Stiles slipped a tube of lube into his pocket, he thought, quite seriously, about the ethics of screwing Derek in the burned ruin of Derek's family home.  Maybe he could talk Derek into coming back to his instead.

 

If, you know, Derek gave him the time of day and hadn't hooked up with another model-cum-serial killer.

 

Or taken a vow of chastity as a result of his genuinely fucked up relationship history.

 

Stiles was _maybe_ nervous as he drove out to the Preserve, in other words, but as soon as he came up the drive, he knew something was _off_.  It wasn't a pitted, overgrown track anymore.  Somebody had smoothed it and poured gravel, and the brush was cut back.  And where the ruined house had been . . . well. 

 

Stiles knew suddenly that he was playing game with a completely different person than he expected.

 

The burned ruin was gone.  In its place stood a house, a real house with a solid roof and stairs that didn't look like tetanus and death, and a door painted not bright red, but a warm brown.  There were real windows and fucking _flower beds_ that were riotous with blooms and perfumed the air.  Stiles got out of his jeep in a sort of daze, staring.

 

Then, the man himself came around the side of the house, and Stiles' heart thumped thrice.  Yep.  Different game, but not.  Stiles felt like a sophomore in high school again, seeing the hot brooding guy in the woods and realizing, _Oh shit turns out I'm bi_.  But the hot brooding guy had turned into the hot daddy bear with a little smile on his face, and _oh shit I'm still so into him._

 

Derek was unfairly shirtless and sweaty and hairy.  His body was bronzed from the sun and without a scar.  Thick hair covered his arms and chest and tapered down his flat stomach.  His jeans were loose and torn on the knees, and there was a tool belt on his waist.  This was Derek's handyman incarnation. 

 

He had a _beard_ and Stiles sort of wanted to rub his ass all over that face.

 

Derek took off the tool belt and draped it over the railing on the porch.  He came over, his eyes sweeping up and down Stiles' body in a way that would've made him spontaneously orgasm if he were still sixteen and hadn't, since then, had extremely fun and sometimes kinky sex.  "Hey, big guy," Stiles said, almost on autopilot.  "Looks good."

 

"Thanks," Derek said, and had his voice always been that soft?  Had his face?  Was it the beard?

 

"You did it all yourself?"  Stiles asked, congratulating his brain on managing to find a not-creepy comment among all the porn his brain was offering up.  Things like _I can deepthroat wanna see_ and _I want to bite your chest hair_ and _Please give me beard burn in awkward places_ and _My jeep is the perfect height for you to bend over, actually, I've tested this_.

 

Derek nodded, looking back at the house.  "I had help, with some things.  Hired an electrician and a plumber.  Not a good idea to fuck around with those.  And I hired a couple of guys to teach me how to lay tile and flooring, that kind of thing."  He waved a hand.  "Lots of YouTube."

 

"Fuck me, dude.  I mean.  Uh."  Well, that went past the point of being an epithet and into a request really quickly, didn't it?  "I _mean_ , um, fuck, it's awesome, wanna show me around?"

 

"Yeah," Derek said, looking a little flustered himself.  "Come on inside."  Stiles followed Derek up the stairs and to the door, his head settling into a quiet crooning of _dat asssss_. Derek tugged his shoes off just inside the door, on a mat, and Stiles did the same.  The floor in the foyer was tile, a custom job that looked like the moon.

 

"Jesus," Stiles said, bending down to tug the mat up to take in the whole thing.  "Oh my god, Derek, that's _amazing_." He hadn't expected that, and he felt off-balance again, like he wasn't sure who he was talking to.  Derek had clearly poured more than money and time into this rebuild.  When he looked up to say more, he saw Derek was blushing, even through the tan it was obvious, and their eyes met and just.  Held.

 

"Thanks," Derek finally said, clearing his throat and turning his eyes.  "I, uh, got the idea on the internet."

 

"Please tell me you have a pinterest account," Stiles blurted.

 

" . . . Shut up."

 

"Oh my _god_ you _do_ I have got to see your styleboard."  Gleefully, Stiles dropped the rug, and followed Derek through the rest of the house.  There were wood and tile floors, things that had clearly been chosen with care.  Derek didn't pull on a shirt as they walked, which helped Stiles to keep on track with the whole Derek In Bed project he had going on.  Some of the definition was gone from Derek's muscles, but the tan, the body hair, the tattoo--all of it was a gorgeous view. 

 

The tour ground to a halt in the dining room, because--there were photos.  Stiles understood it immediately.  The wall was covered with photos of Derek's dead family.  They were all framed, and arranged carefully.  Stiles stared at them in silence, looking at those faces that looked like Derek's. 

 

"I got most of them from their friends," Derek told him.  "Some from the newspaper.  Mom and Dad's wedding photo was in the news, and somebody dug through their archives for me to find the digital image.  So.  That's Peter."  Derek pointed to the teenager in his parents' wedding photo, a kid with a bad haircut and wearing a suit and a smug expression Stiles instantly recognized.

 

"This is . . . this is something really great," Stiles told him.  "Tell me about them?"

 

Derek's eyes fluttered, twice, and he took a deep breath, let it out as a heavy exhale.  Shoring himself up for it, Stiles thought.  He wondered if anybody else had been in here, had asked about his family.  "Okay," Derek said, and pointed to photos, to people, gave Stiles their names, gave Stiles little bits about their personalities with a bittersweet smile on his face.  Derek's baby brother, Ben, was memorialized only in candid photos from playdates.  There was a photo of Derek's grandmother that looked like it was from the 70's, and her long, straight black hair was pulled to one side.  Her eyes were very dark and uncompromising. This was an alpha in her prime, a matriarch.  Derek looked a lot like his grandmother, but nothing like his grandfather, who had shockingly bright hair and blue eyes in the one color photo of him, also from Derek's parents' wedding.  All the Hales had mastered the camera side-eye necessary to avoid tell-tale eyeflash--except for Ben, and Derek's dad, who had been human.

 

"There's not any pictures of you," Stiles said as soon as he realized.  Not even in the background!  The idea that there just weren't any, when there was Laura's school photos and photos that clearly came from a yearbook, was just ridiculous.  Derek's uncomfortable face might as well have been subtitled _I wasn't sure I should be with them_.  Stiles snorted, pointed to Derek's mom's photo. "Okay, big guy, but what would she say if she walked in?  She'd say, 'Looks good, where's my son?'"

 

Derek's breath burst out of him, and he looked down at the floor.  The floor that looked like reclaimed hardwood, that had that _lived-on_ aesthetic, that Derek had laid by hand with the help of some guy he picked up in the Lowe's parking lot.  Stiles put a hand on Derek's shoulder.  For the first time Stiles could remember, Derek didn't flinch, and there wasn't even somebody bleeding out in front of him to distract him from the touch.  It made something in Stiles' own chest clench up.

 

Stiles suddenly had a project for his summer break that had nothing to do with getting Derek in bed.

 

Derek showed him the rest of the house. The custom kitchen was outfitted with all kinds of gadgets and new appliances.  Derek  offered Stiles a beer, and Stiles drank it as they headed upstairs.  Big windows at the top of the stairs showed a view of the backyard, and newly planted trees not far from where Derek had buried his sister all those years ago.  A quick count confirmed--yeah, one tree for every person who died in the fire, plus Laura.

 

"I made Peter plant hers," Derek told Stiles.  Stiles turned to see Derek staring at him.  Against Stiles' will, their eyes locked again. 

 

"I hope the bastard feels sorry for what he did," Stiles said, a little too fierce, maybe, but enough time had passed for Stiles to really understand everything that happened during that first round of crazy.  He hadn't been able to really think about it, back then, despite thinking he'd understood it all.  One weed and beer filled evening, reading about wolfsbane, he'd thought about Derek walking around Laura's remains, a wolfsbane rope he'd made himself burning his hands, but he'd kept it up, probably bleeding onto the grass with every step. 

 

And then some stupid kids had dug her up.

 

Yeah, not Stiles' proudest memory.

 

"I . .. think he does," Derek answered.  "He took off a few weeks ago.  He wasn't sure he was going to come back.  I can't really blame him."

 

"You going to stay here?" 

 

Derek nodded.  "At least for a while."

 

"Cool.  What are you going to do when the house is done?"  Derek had told him the exterior was still a work in progress, and by that Derek meant a huge patio and a pergola he was building himself because he never did things the easy way.  But still, that couldn't be more than a couple of months' work.

 

"I'm . . . I started taking a couple of classes," Derek admitted, looking uncomfortable. 

 

"Yeah?"  Stiles grinned. "Where at?"

 

"Oh, just BCC."  Derek waved his hand, like he was waving it away, like it was _no big deal_ that a guy who'd had to drop out of high school to run away from his rapist girlfriend who wanted to kill him, then bullied into his GED by his older sister--like _that guy_ going to school voluntarily wasn't a big deal.  The GED story had come out around the time Stiles and the others graduated.  Stiles had been thinking about just dropping out and doing the same, but Derek had talked him out of it.  Stiles only made it through his senior year with therapy, weed, and prescription medication to help him sleep.

 

"Hey, man, that's awesome."  Stiles punched him in the shoulder, then took a drink of his beer.  "What are you gonna do?"

 

Derek looked away, clearly growing more uncomfortable.  " . . . nursing," he finally admitted.

 

Stiles blinked, then grinned.  He hadn't _expected_ that, really, but hearing it?  It made sense.  "Dude," Stiles said, all smiles, and hoped Derek heard encouragement and approval.

 

Derek shifted on his feet, looking back at Stiles, and--was Stiles wrong or did Derek's breath just hitch?  No--Stiles was not wrong.  Derek's breath hitched.  Derek was--

 

Showing him the bedrooms.  Okay.  There was only one reason for that.

 

Stiles was not surprised that Derek wasn't living in the "master".  No, Derek's room was in the southern corner, a room with a lot of windows.  It was one of only two furnished bedrooms in the house.  There was, in fact, very little furniture in the house, at least the parts Stiles had seen.  Stiles walked in, his heart pounding again.  He turned to Derek, and they spoke on top of each other--

 

Derek said, "Do you want to g--"

 

At the same time, Stiles said, "Do you want to fuck?"

 

Derek blinked twice.  Stiles stepped closer, grinned at him.  "Come on," Stiles crooned.  "I saw you looking."

 

Derek swallowed, his eyes on Stiles' lips, and Stiles fist pumped--mentally, not where Derek could see, that'd be weird.

 

"Yeah," Derek said, the best sound Stiles had ever heard.  "Yeah, okay."

 

"Oh thank god," Stiles answered, losing all his chill, and stepping into Derek's space to get his hands on those fucking _shoulders_ and to kiss him.  Derek's hands settled on Stiles' waist, light as a couple of birds, and Derek kissed back, and Derek _moaned_ a little, and Stiles' dick grew hard in his jeans.  Derek's beard _was_ soft, and Stiles rubbed his cheek against Derek's, the grin splitting his face.

 

Derek's eyes were wide when Stiles pulled back, just enough to tug Derek back towards his bed.  "Come on, lay down, big guy."  Stiles prodded him until he sat, then scooted back onto the bed.  Stiles whipped his shirt off, and Derek licked his lips, looking hungry. Derek reached out, grabbed Stiles by his belt, and pulled him down until his hips were pressed against Derek's, one thigh between Derek's big, meaty legs.  Derek's fingers traced the ink on Stiles' chest, then followed the line of his abs down.  The rock of their hips together was sublime, a pleasure that just ratcheted higher, until Derek's hands started to tug at Stiles' belt.  They stayed connected at the mouth, tongues slipping together and it was so fucking good.  Stiles wanted it to be _great_. 

 

He reared back, kneeling astride Derek's thighs to pull out his own belt while Derek took care of his own battered jeans.  Stiles had to get up so they could remove socks and shoes and underwear.  Then he had to have a _moment_ , just looking down at Derek's body, stroking his hands along his sides and his abs, curling through all his thick body hair.  He licked his lips and tugged at the hairs just above his cock, just _this_ side of pain.  Stiles watched a flush spread across Derek's cheeks, his pecs, and he grinned, rolling his hips and rubbing his cock against Derek's skin.  The wet head of it left a sticky trail, catching in the hair on Derek's thigh, and Stiles was suddenly obsessed with licking him clean, so he did.  And then, as long as he was down there, he decided he might as well go down on him.  Derek smelled sweaty and musty and his pubes were humid.  It should've been a little gross, but Stiles was so turned on and Derek was so goddamn _masculine_ that it just made Stiles hotter.  He had a type, maybe.

 

Derek called his name, then again, urgently, and tugged Stiles off.  Derek's dick twitched in Stiles' hand and Derek looked pained.  "Gonna be over really fast if you keep that up," Derek groaned at him.  "Get up here."

 

"Sure thing," Stiles agreed, crawled up his body to kiss him.  They rocked together slowly, Derek's hands on Stiles' ass. 

 

"I wanna fuck you," Stiles moaned, licking into Derek's mouth.  Derek moaned against him, which meant Stiles got to lick an awful lot, and then Derek just about blew Stiles' mind by spreading his legs and hitching up a knee. 

 

"Lube's in the drawer," Derek told him.  Stiles rumbled, a sound he wasn't fully conscious of, and bit at Derek's chin before pulling up to retrieve it.

 

"I've got a condom in my wallet," he offered.

 

"I can't carry anything," Derek told him.  "And you can't give me anything."  He stroked Stiles' forearm, where it was braced by Derek's shoulder.  Derek was looking up at him in a way Stiles had never been looked at before, a way that demanded Stiles lean in and kiss him, a gentle kiss.  His brain caught up to what Derek had said a moment into it, and Stiles groaned. 

 

"Never been in somebody without one," Stiles told him.  "Holy shit."

 

"Yeah, well," Derek grinned.  "Barebacking is the lycanthropy perk nobody talks about."

 

"You said barebacking," Stiles responded, mind just about blown.  He snapped the cap off the lube, not surprised that it was unscented.  Derek probably wouldn't want his ass or his dick smelling like cherries or vanilla. Stiles imagined that would be super awkward to explain to werewolf friends.  Derek's hoarse laugh cut into a moan as Stiles lubed up his fingers and pressed them into Derek's body, one, then two.  Derek circled his hips, pushing back against Stiles' hand, and Stiles encouraged him with a string of filthy praise and requests.  "Yeah, big guy, fuck my hand, god, your ass just swallowed my fingers right up, show me how you like it, yeah--"  It was ridiculous but Stiles meant every word, and he looked at Derek through heavy, lidded eyes. 

 

Derek's flush deepened, an entrancing sight, really.  It spread across his chest, and his toes curled into the sheets.  The big muscles of his thighs strained and Stiles started to pepper them with kisses, with licks, the hair dragging against his tongue.  " _Stiles_ ," Derek cried, urgent.  "Stop fucking around--put it in me."

 

"Oh my god I almost came," Stiles blurted, and had to grab his own dick to stop that from happening.  With Derek's eager help, Stiles lubed his dick up.  Derek rolled over onto his knees, put his ass up in the air in a clear invitation, and Stiles pushed in carefully.  He _knew_ Derek could heal, but he thought--maybe it'd be nice for Derek if somebody set out to fuck him without _fucking him over_.  Maybe Stiles could be the first to do that.

 

The pleasure of it, the tightness, the sheer animal need to _move_ \--it was nearly overwhelming, but Stiles pushed in slow and steady, watched Derek's back and arms flex, watched the flush creeping along the back of his neck and his ears.  He'd _never_ fucked anybody as pretty as Derek Hale, but that thought, Stiles kept tucked behind his teeth.

 

He leaned over Derek's strong back and moved his hips in tiny, careful thrusts, and when Derek literally _growled_ at him, Stiles kissed the back of his neck and said, "Thank you."  Then he got down to business.  Stiles had learned to use his body, and he loved topping a man who was desperate for his dick.  Liked it the other way, too, but there was something about opening up a guy and making space for himself inside them.  Derek's body was amazing, felt amazing, everything was _better_ than Stiles could have ever imagined as a sixteen year old virgin, meeting him in the woods.

 

"You made me realize I was bi," Stiles told him, wrapping a hand around Derek's dick to jerk him off. Derek's dick was feverishly  hot in his hand, and Derek groaned, deep in his chest.  Stiles grinned, bit the meat of Derek's shoulder and worried it between his teeth for a moment.  "Wish I could _mark you up_ ," he said, half-delirious.

 

"Wish you could," Derek gasped, the breath sounding punched out of him, which was gratifying as _hell_ considering Stiles was giving it everything he had, hard steady thrusts of his dick into Derek's body, a real deep dicking that was just so satisfying to receive.  Stiles knew this from experience (thanks, Troy).  "Fuuuck, Stiles--"  Then Derek literally bit the pillow, and he came.  Something in Stiles' chest tightened with pride, and after a moment, when Derek started to go limp under him, Stiles reared back, fit his hands into the handles of Derek's hips, and chased his own orgasm.  Derek made these great little sounds under him, his ass twitched internally, and Stiles had never felt it like that before, right up against his dick.  As orgasm became less possibility and more inevitability, Derek twisted a little, looking up at him, stretching an arm back to wrap awkwardly around the back of Stiles' neck.  Stiles didn't ordinarily think of Derek as agile, but he did run around doing flips and shit, so he probably was bendier than his musculature might suggest.

 

"Come in me," Derek c _rooned_ at him, that was a croon, a _cajole_ even.  Derek wanted what Stiles was giving.  Stiles made a loud, desperate noise, and raised up further on his knees for more leverage, to fuck him faster.  Derek kept up his own dirtyhot litany, this time, his own voice shaky and his free hand curved protectively over his dick and balls.  He must've been crazy over-sensitive.  "Come on, I wanna feel it, do it, look at me, come on, Stiles--" 

 

Stiles shouted, and did.  Derek made a little noise when Stiles filled him up, and tugged Stiles down to kiss him, craning his own neck up so they could reach.  The kiss was wet and panting and open, and Stiles flexed his hips and his hands almost automatically, his balls still jerking just a little. 

 

He had to pull out, eventually, and looked down at Derek in Derek's bed, in the house he'd rebuilt to make into a home.  Derek's body was covered in sweat, his ass and thighs were shining, and there was come all over his stomach and his sheets.  He looked up at Stiles with sleepy, wondering eyes, though.

 

"I'm gonna stay," Stiles said, his own limbs feeling heavy.  "If that's okay with you."

 

"Get down here," Derek told him, and then didn't give him a choice, tugging him down and shoving them both over so Derek wasn't laying in a wet spot.  He curved his big body around Stiles' skinnier one, thigh to thigh and chest to chest, Stiles very firmly the little spoon.  Derek's hand pressed against the knot on Stiles' chest, and no-- _this_ was the best sleep Stiles had ever had in his life.

 

They napped for a while.  It wasn't until Stiles woke up that he realized something, and he elbowed Derek awake.  Derek grunted, tightened his arms.  "Quit it, Stiles."

 

 "Hey hey no. This is important.  What were you gonna say?"

 

"What?"

 

"Before I hit on you?"

 

After a moment, Derek said, "Is that what you call it?"  Derek's voice transitioned from grumpy-sleepy to amused, like he'd realized Stiles wasn't letting him go back to sleep until he got an answer.

 

"It was a little blunt," Stiles admitted.

 

"You literally asked to fuck me."

 

"A lot blunt, hey, listen, it worked."  Stiles wiggled until Derek loosened his arms, and Stiles rolled over to look up at him.  He asked, more quietly.  "What were you gonna say?"

 

Derek sighed, closed his eyes like he was already anticipating something going badly.  He didn't open them again when he answered.  "I was going to ask you on a date."

 

And then Stiles went straight for his ass.

 

"I am a shallow asshole," Stiles admitted.  "But yes, let's go on a date."

 

Derek's eyes opened on that, looking right at Stiles.  He tightened his arms again.  "You can't fuck around on this with me, Stiles.  I couldn't fucking stand it, do you hear me?"

 

"The only fucking around I want to do is of the sexy kind," Stiles promised him.  "Let's go out.  Be my boyfriend.  We only had an Intense Emotional Connection for years, big guy, let's do this."

 

Derek's eyes were steady on his, and a little wide.  Stiles guessed the Venn diagram of people who wanted to fuck Derek and people who wanted to date Derek didn't have much overlap; however, the Venn diagram of people who _had_ fucked Derek and people who had fucked Derek _over_ had a lot of overlap.  Stiles was determined--nope, he was not going to be in that awful middle of the Venn.  He was going to be the outlier. He was going to be the best damn boyfriend Derek had ever had, and love Derek the way John still loved Stiles' mom.  Stiles wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed and then have to wash the sheets; he wanted Derek to visit him at college and meet his weird friends and go to Tarantino movies with them. He wanted Derek to be there to hold his hand the next time he got a tat, or a piercing, and he wanted to come back to Beacon Hills to visit his dad, and to stay with Derek.

 

Stiles' whole life had been building to this, with this man, this relationship an open possibility, and it took Stiles' breath away.

 

Derek saw some of that on Stiles' face.  He must've, because the smile Derek gave him was so small and so shy and so vulnerable, Stiles wanted to protect it and him forever. 

 

Derek gave him a little kiss.  "Stay," he said, and rolled over, letting Stiles wrap around him, press his thudding chest to Derek's strong back, and hold on tight.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A few weeks later, Stiles finished his other summer project, and put it on the dining room table for Derek to see when he came back from Home Depot with yet more paving stones.  He'd chosen the frames carefully, to match what was already on the wall, and he set them up:  a picture of Derek from the high school year book, another of Derek on the  basketball team, and yet another from one of Laura's friends, with Derek and Laura standing together, arms around each other's shoulders, grinning side-eyed at the camera.

 

 

 


End file.
